Lion winced at the inevitable, his grandfather homing in on his deepest fear. "Killing Miss Fitzgerald? A rather untidy bit of vengeance—"
"But an effective one. However, I can be merciful. She loves you, fool that she is. What think you, Lion? Shall I kill her first? That way, she won't have to watch you die."
Instinctively, Lion started forward.
"Turn your weapon on my grandson, Barton," his grandfather snapped. "He's showing a distressing tendency to interfere."
Ever so slowly, the boy came about. Lion stared, stunned at the torments of hell shimmering in the boy's eyes. He grasped at that last, desperate hope.
"Barton, think," Lion pleaded. "You don't want Rhiannon's blood on your hands."
God help him, even if he managed to reach his pistol and shoot Barton, it would be too late. His grandfather would have shoved Rhiannon, sent her hurtling down to be crushed on the cobbles below. Hopeless. It was hopeless. Still, he had to try. He glanced at Rhiannon, certain his lady must know it, too.
"I love you." Rhiannon's voice, so certain, so sure, her eyes trying to convey something. A message. A warning he could feel like a physical battering in his chest. Her gaze flicked to the bank of windows to one side. Did she see a way out? Some escape that he didn't see? The sun's glare obscured everything beyond the glass. Christ's blood, what was she trying to tell him? There was no time....
Supremely confident, his grandfather paced toward
Rhiannon, bound and heartbreakingly helpless upon the narrow ledge of the railing.
"It will be over quickly, my dear. You'll not suffer long—not nearly as long as you would have had you actually been so unfortunate as to wed my grandson."
Terror clawed at Lion's vitals. "No! Rhiannon—"
Something flashed in her eyes—grief and love and deadly determination. In a burst of insight, Lion realized that she meant to risk everything by hurling herself at his grandfather, knocking him off balance, risking a hideous death to give Lion the slightest chance to fight back. By God, he wouldn't let her!
With a feral roar, Lion launched himself at Barton, but in that heartbeat the boy twisted to one side and fired. Rhiannon's scream pierced the air.
Seconds sped past but seemed to spiral out forever as his grandfather drew a small pistol and aimed it at Lion. Murder gleamed in the old man's eyes.
Lion scrabbled for his own pistol, but it was too late. His grandfather's gun exploded. At that instant a blur of movement lunged between Lion and certain death. His lady? The sound of lead striking flesh sickened him as a cry of pain reverberated through Lion with more force than any bullet.
Lion swung around as Barton stumbled and crashed into the old man, driving Paxton Redmayne hard against the edge of the waist-high rail. For an instant the old man teetered, grasping for anything to hold on to, the stone, Barton's arm, the folds of Rhiannon's gown. But his hands closed on air. He fell with a hellish shriek as Barton crumpled at Rhiannon's feet.
"Lion, the window!" Rhiannon screamed as a shadow moved beyond the glass. Lion drew his own concealed pistol, aimed, fired. A burly servant toppled through the shattered panes, dead, a pistol clattering from his limp hand.
Lion wheeled, half crazed with relief, as he saw Rhiannon safe on the stone balcony, but he recoiled at the sight of her bound arms cradling Barton.
"Barton betrayed us," Redmayne growled. "You don't owe him any pity."
She turned her heartbroken gaze up to him and drew her hands away from the front of the boy's shirt, blood blossoming there, a hellish red. "You owe him your life. Didn't you see, Lion?" Tears coursed down her face. "He hurled himself in front of the bullet your grandfather meant for you."
"The devil he did! I saw—"
"What your grandfather wanted you to see. And you believed it. The man inside the window had orders to shoot me if Kenneth didn't do as he was commanded—play the betrayer, to hurt you, make you careless."
Lion groped for sanity, some logic in all this madness. His grandfather had always been a master at trapping him in illusions. And he'd been fool enough to stumble into another one.
"Then the boy— He didn't betray us?"
"He tried to shoot your grandfather, give you a chance," Rhiannon choked out. "He loved you. Enough to die in your place."
Lion crumpled to his knees, gathering Barton into his arms. Never before had his aide seemed so young. Blood slicked Lion's hands as he fought to put pressure on the wound in the boy's side. "Damn you, boy, don't you dare die! That's a direct order, do you hear me? Keep breathing until I give you leave to stop!"
Fierce, desperate, he willed his own strength into the lad. But what use was it? Strong as Barton was in body, there had ever been a vulnerability about the
boy's spirit. A need to be trusted, be accepted, be loved... and by whom? The cold bastard of a commander who had been so ready to believe the boy a traitor?
A hundred scenes rushed through Lion's mind— countless signs of Barton's affection, his desperate need to please. Generosity Lion had been too much of a fool to appreciate. If Barton died, Lion would be the one who had killed him—his betrayal of the boy far more powerful than any bullet ever molded.
"Help him, Rhiannon." Lion's voice shattered. "You have to heal him. I have to tell him..."
"Tell him what, Lion?"
"That I love him. The damned fool... The damned fool!"
Lion's eyes burned with tears—the first he'd shed since he was a child. They stung at his eyes, diamond hard, as he buried his face against the boy's limp body.
CHAPTER 20
Rhiannon tiptoed into the infirmary, her heart aching at what she saw: Lion, sitting in a chair beside Kenneth Barton's bed. The legendary fastidiousness of Captain Redmayne was gone: his uniform jacket was cast heedlessly upon a table, his shirt hung open at his throat, and his rolled-up sleeves clung to his powerful arms in damp patches from smoothing cool cloths over the boy's feverish body.
She caught her lip between her teeth, fighting back the tears that would only deepen Lion's suffering. For in the week and a half since he'd carried Barton in his arms on the hellish cart journey from Manion House, no man could have suffered more.
Paxton Redmayne's legacy was a vengeance of more exquisite pain than the diabolical man could ever have known. Not once had Lion left the boy's side, willing his own strength into Kenneth with the same grim determination with which he'd spooned broth down the boy's throat, as if Captain Redmayne could force even death into full retreat.
But Rhiannon had seen far too many injured creatures to believe that wanting someone to live, how- ever fierce the desire, would make it so. Imperious death claimed who it would, and abandoned those left behind to grief and guilt and the painful task of putting shattered lives back together a piece at a time.
But this time it wasn't fair, Rhiannon thought sadly. Hadn't Lion been tormented enough? Didn't he deserve this one last chance to be whole? Because if Barton died, Rhiannon knew a part of Lion would die, too. With each breath Barton drew, the boy was fighting not only for his own life but for a life Lion had never known.
Even the lowliest private seemed to sense it. The whole camp was holding its breath, knowing with that all-too-human instinct that no matter what the outcome, nothing would ever be the same. How could it be, when their commander was no longer the man they knew and had feared for so long.
Most astonishing of all, another man had often stood sentinel with Lion through the endless nights, silent, yet strong, bracing. Lieutenant Williams, his ages-old eyes alive with suffering and with an understanding that seemed to say without words, I know what you feel, what you'll lose with this boy. But the pain is far better than being only half alive.
A kind of bond had formed between two soldiers who, without the intervention of a twisted old man, might have been far more alike than they knew.
And yet what would happen if Barton died?
Her heart hurt as she crept into the room, laid one hand on Lion's slumped shoulder
. He started, glanced up, soul-shattering grief in his eyes. "Tonight." He grasped her hand as if she were the only lifeline in a world gone mad. "The doctor says the crisis will be tonight. If he doesn't wake up, he never will."
"I know." Rhiannon leaned against him, stroking a lock of hair back from his forehead. "But we have to keep believing."
"You've always been better at that than I am. Give me something to believe in, angel. Don't your fairies have some sort of charm? Magic to make a warrior well? Barton is the bravest lad I've ever known."
Rhiannon wondered how anyone could heal this grief, lashed as it was by self-blame. Death was so dark, so final. From the beginning of time, men had woven tales of other worlds more beautiful than the one they knew, where pain and grief were swept away forever. She kissed the crown of Lion's head, painting such a world for him now. "Here in Ireland some of us believe that the fairies snatch away our heroes. Maybe they'll carry Kenneth off to Tir naN Og, where he'll be forever young. And he'll marry a fairy maid, and live as a hero until Ireland sinks into the sea."
Lion gave a broken laugh. "I fear Barton is from Cornwall."
"So was Tristan, yet he found and loved Isolde, and their love became a legend that has lasted for all time. But if you're so certain that Kenneth won't be given entrance to the land of the fairies, then I suppose the lad will just have to remain here with you."
"I'd sell my soul to see him live," Lion vowed.
"That would hardly be fair, since it seems you've just gotten it back."
Lion drew a shuddering breath. "I just didn't know that it would hurt so much and that I would feel so damned helpless. In my arrogance, I thought by sheer will I could force the fates to do as I pleased. But then you found me and changed everything. Barton hurled himself in front of that bullet, and I knew..."
"Knew what, my darling?"
"That nothing else mattered—not control or intellect or power. Nothing was stronger than love."
She knelt down, laid her head upon his lap, her arms curved about his legs. "Then you've learned all there is to know, except for one thing."
He gazed down at her as if she held all the answers in the universe. "What is that?"
"How to forgive yourself." Please, God, Rhiannon prayed, don't let him learn that lesson at Kenneth Barton's graveside.
They kept vigil for hours, watching moon shadows etch silver across the walls, while the valiant boy fought for his life. Dawn streaked the horizon when Rhiannon saw it—a subtle change, the slightest shift in breathing, the tinge of difference in the pallor of his skin.
"Lion," she whispered, clasping his hand.
He stared down at Barton's face, and Rhiannon saw the fear there, so raw, so new.
"Barton?" Lion growled, leaning over the young man. "Barton, open your eyes, boy! That's a direct order."
Rhiannon watched, her heart swelling with joy as Kenneth's eyes fluttered open. His lips curved into a shaky smile. "Captain... sir. Never st-stopped breathing," Barton said.
"If you had, I'd have court-martialed you, even if I'd had to track you down in hell, boy."
"It wasn't hell. It was someplace... beautiful. Everyone was happy, never sick or... or tired. I wanted to stay, but kept hearing your voice, ordering me back."
Lion, holding death at bay by sheer will. Lion, reaching from this world into the next to hold the boy's hand. The image made Rhiannon's eyes burn, her heart burst with hope and gratitude.
"I had to order you back," Lion rasped. "You see, I—I can't manage without you."
"I knew that. That's why... tried to keep watch over you and your lady at night. Keep... anyone from... hurting you."
Redmayne gazed down at the boy, suddenly realizing what Barton had done. He'd stood guard outside the window through countless nights, until he was half sick from the strain of it. "That was why you looked so haggard. You weren't sleeping. I thought..." Shame darkened Lion's cheeks. "I thought you were suffering from a guilty conscience."
"I was, when I saw that invitation from your grandfather. I knew you'd be angry if I showed it to Miss Fitzgerald, but I hoped... The man was your family. Even if you were estranged, I was certain he wouldn't want you hurt. I thought if I told him what was happening, he could protect you in ways that I never could. I knew I would be betraying you, but I was willing to risk it if it meant you'd be safe. Christ, you should have heard him laugh when I confessed everything to him—my fear for you, the danger you were in. I never guessed that he was the one who wanted you dead."
"Paxton Redmayne has fooled far more worldly men than you. Hell, he poisoned my mind so much I almost didn't warn you when I heard that Sir Thorne and O'Leary had died. That would have left you completely vulnerable, as unsuspecting as a babe while my grandfather plotted to silence you. Damn, what a fool I was! I'm sorry I ever doubted you, lad. Forgive me."
Barton's eyes widened. "But it wasn't your fault. Nothing to blame yourself for."
"You're wrong, boy. I should have believed in you. You'd proved yourself to me time and again, if I'd merely had the wit to see it." Lion hesitated, almost shy. "Perhaps you could find it in your heart to for- give me if I make amends and attempt to show you how much I value you."
"Sir, there's no need. All is forgotten."
"I'll never forget, Barton. All you risked for Rhiannon and me. Please give me a chance to begin again. I intend to wed my lady before the week is out. Do me the honor of serving as my groomsman."
Delight and reluctance warred in Barton's pallid face. "But, sir, it's hardly proper. I'm only a sergeant. I shouldn't—"
"You saved Rhiannon's life. You saved my life, though I damn well didn't deserve it. Please, boy. They say the groomsman should be the bridegroom's best friend. You've been my only friend for a very long time. I was just too blind to see it."
"Are you certain, sir? I don't want you to regret—"
"Please, Barton. Say you will."
"Sir, it would be an honor. And, sir, I would never betray you, I swear it."
"I know, boy." Lion said, with certainty in his voice. A victory beyond measure.
Without another word, Rhiannon slipped out of the room, knowing she would never forget the sight of Lion bending over the young man, his face fierce with affection as he grasped Kenneth's hand.
No wedding in the fairy kingdom could have been more magical, Rhiannon thought, her head still whirling with visions of flowers and beautiful gowns, dashing soldiers and heavenly music as she glided the silver-backed brush through her hair. Yet the most magical image of all was that of her husband—so strong, so proud, his love written openly in the warm blue of his eyes.
He'd pledged her his heart, and no lover could ever have taken that vow more seriously than Lion. For the gift he gave her was a heart so new and still so filled with wonder that it awed her, humbled her.
And now, after so much waiting, they were bound together forever, in the way she had dreamed of so many restless nights. She stood, gazing shyly at herself in the mirror. Her hair glistened in a satiny veil that fell to her waist. Her body, scented with lavender, was covered by a gossamer nightgown as fragile as the new dreams just born in Lion's eyes.
She prayed that she could be worthy of the love of this man who was only now beginning to discover who he truly was.
A soft rap on the door made her heart leap, and she turned toward it, her hands trembling. "Come in."
Slowly it opened. Lion stood there, still resplendent, his dashing uniform replaced by a robe of pewter gray. "I wanted to give you enough time to make ready, to do whatever it is you ladies do." His mouth curved in a wry smile. "I'm only beginning to discover that I can be a very impatient man."
Heat stung her cheeks, but she let all her eagerness, her anticipation, all her dreams of what was to come, shine in her eyes. "I'm impatient, too. I've waited so long for you."
"Forever, it seemed." He groaned. "I didn't want to dishonor you. You're too precious, too fine." He crossed to her, gently stroking his knuckles alon
g her cheekbone. "But now... now you're my wife, Rhiannon. Mine." His voice roughened, fierce. "It almost makes me believe...." His gaze flickered away, a shyness stealing into that face that could be so austere, so controlled.
"Believe what?"
"There has to be magic in a world that could give a fairy maid like you to a man so lost."
"You're not lost anymore, Lion. You'll never be lost again."
"No." He framed her cheeks with his hands, his thumb skimming ever so gently the silky curve of her freckle-spattered nose. "How can I ever be lost again, when the fates gave me my very own light to guide me out of the darkness? A light I can keep forever."
"It wasn't the fates. It was the fairies. They led me to you. But now that we both know you're Irish, I'm not sure who sent them from the land of Tir naN Og— my mother or your father."
"Irish. It's strange, but this land always held a fascination for me. In fact, there was a time when I was chasing smugglers, and led my soldiers down into souterrains—tunnels beneath a ruined castle. Legend claimed the fairies would deal death to any enemy of Ireland who dared tread there. I almost fell, Rhiannon, but something—like an invisible hand—bore me up. Do you think..."
"It was your father."
"My father was a doctor, sweetheart, not lord of the fairies."
"But he was a hero. Everything your grandfather said made that clear—the way he fought to save your sister and the people in the accident, the way he loved you."
"He must have been—a hero, I mean. I remember so little of him." The grief of that, the loss, would forever be etched in Lion's face.
"But he remembers everything about you, Lion. I'm certain of it. Love never forgets."
He raised his eyes to hers, so uncertain. "Will I, Rhiannon? Will I ever forget the things that happened?"
She wished she could erase all the doubt in that beloved face. "No. I wish I could take away all your pain, but if I could, it would change you, Lion, and I wouldn't do that for all the world. Maybe you would have met another woman, married her, loved her, long before I found you in the standing stones."